


Ratigan's Reprehensible Retribution

by CaffieneKitty



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Cartoon Drama, Community: watsons_woes, Crack, Crossover, Gen, Humor, Silly, Time Travel, warning? - Off-screen mice get eaten by a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1924356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffieneKitty/pseuds/CaffieneKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratigan has a plan to get his final revenge on that annoyance Basil, and nothing will stop him! Not even humans!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ratigan's Reprehensible Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [**watsons_woes**](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) July Writing Prompt #8: [There Has Been Some Villainy Here: Use a villain's POV](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1090549.html). My first ever fic involving the Great Mouse Detective 'verse! Considering it was nearly my first Holmes-related fandom, it's about time.  (and please do pardon that pun) \o/

" _Basil._ I'll show him. I'll show them all!" Ratigan chortled to himself, flicking a cog on the shining device before him with a nail, just to hear the 'ting!'. It had taken a pair of very unusual lab mice liberated at great cost from the University to draw up the plans and complete the device Ratigan had requested. His old group of rodent underlings had deserted him, thinking he was dead after that fall from the clock tower.

"As if a mere fall could slay my genius! They should know better than to underestimate me! Fools! Bwahahaha!" Lightning crackled appropriately, throwing Ratigan's triumphant shadow over Felicia's supine post-prandial form. He held the pose a moment longer before slumping a little and snarling. "Waste of a fine maniacal laugh. You are an efficient disposer of annoyances, Felicia my dear, but you leave much to be desired as an audience."

The enormous, fluffy (and now slightly battle-scarred from the run-in with the human Queen's dogs) feline belched and rolled over to expose her tummy.

Ratigan sniffed and turned his back on his loyal hench-cat. "Now. _Now_ I shall show Basil who's the supreme criminal. With this, this-" He glanced at the remains of the plans tacked to the wall. "Velocitemporopede?" He glared in the direction of the sleeping cat's tummy. " _That's_ what you fools named it? I'm _so_ glad I didn't decide to be merciful with you two." Ratigan ripped down the remains of the plans and shredded them quickly between his claws.

"Now! With this-" He looked at the gleaming object, "This..."

The object continued gleaming.

Ratigan rubbed a paw down his face with a frustrated growl. "Ugh. With this Velocitemporopede, I shall travel through time itself! There is no law I will not break to wreak my vengeance! I shall travel to the future, and conquer a Mousedom which knows no Basil of Baker Street!" He debated another evil laugh, but he was still recovering from not being able to come up with a different name for his own contraption, and decided to hold it for a better moment.

Settling his top hat on his head and his red-lined cape around his shoulders he stepped into the device and perched delicately on the seat. "A hundred years? No, one hundred and _fifteen_ years!" He twirled the dials, cackling.

"Goodbye, Felicia, my most loyal." He doffed his hat to the snoring feline across the alcove of the darkened Baker Street underground platform. "I'm afraid you'll have to do your own hunting from now on." He settled his hat back on his head and snarled at the glowing dials and switches in front of him, muttering, "If you do manage to catch that infernal Basil or his rotund associate and eat them, _do_ leave me a note or something."

Then, with a fleeting lament at no longer having a lackey to do the peddling for him, Ratigan set his long feet to the pedals and pushed himself through time.

-.-

With a great electric flash and brief gust of wind, the Velocitemporopede appeared in a corner of Baker Street tube station. Ratigan immediately jumped from the device as it continued sparking and exploded into flying cogs without further notice.

"Bah. Shoddy workmanship. I should have instructed Felicia to chew thoroughly." His sudden appearance hidden in a darkened corner behind a waste bin, Ratigan peered out.

Humans bustled everywhere on the loud and brightly-lit station platform. The lighting was strangely white and actinic, brighter than any gas lamp. What little observations he'd made of humankind informed Ratigan that these were strange humans indeed; all wearing bizarre clothing entirely out of the style he knew (as Mousedom society was so often sadly determined to draw fashion from human trends), and most of them looking down into mouse-sized flat boxes which they were connected to by string or wires, completely ignoring their fellow human-kind. A sign made of moving lights and suspended from the ceiling some distance away informed him that the date was May 10th, 2012.

Ratigan capered in an excited circle behind the bin. "It worked! It woooooorked! Mwahahahaha!" He waited a moment for a drama-appropriate thunderclap, but gave up after a second. "No, no! Far too much to do now. Basil of Baker Street is long dead, as well as his bumbling associate! London is mine! No one can stop me! No one!"

But even as he posed triumphantly, Ratigan felt a shiver. The beginning perhaps of a qualm. What of Basil's legacy? Was there a descendant, a new Basil even now residing under 221 Baker Street? A lineage? A - dare he think it - an entire _mischief_ of dratted interfering Basils and Dawsons, laying in wait for his arrival, preparing all the years he'd just skipped?

"They can't know I've arrived yet." Ratigan snarled. "I must make the first attack, catch them all unprepared!"

With that, Ratigan scampered down the side of the tracks and through the drains under London towards 221 Baker Street.

-.-

At 221, he found the front door of the dratted Detective's domicile removed entirely, a human eating establishment taking up that section of the building's front. Ratigan scurried in, unseen by the human staff and patrons. Under a table he paused only to grab and eat a discarded cheese-drizzled crust and to scan the room for any sign of a new Basil-descendant-infested residence. _Nothing. But what of the upper storeys?_ He ran into the back, to the pipe access and scampered up the wainscoting, up through the wall until he found a crack in the baseboard and tumbled out into a well-lit room.

The smells of food and chemicals greeted him, as well as human feet. A pair of human feet, directly in front of him.

Ratigan looked up. Way up. There was a human, standing in front of a silvery cupboard, holding the door open as cold air and blue-white light poured from it.

But the human wasn't looking in the strange cupboard. The human was looking directly at him. Staring in fact. Perhaps in fear? Human expressions were so hard to read.

 _No matter_ , Ratigan thought. _In this new world, perhaps Mousedom isn't my limit anymore, perhaps I could rule the humans as well!_

On that impulse, he drew himself up tall, doffing his hat and swirling his cape around in highest dramatic fashion, gracing the human with his best cackle yet. "MWAHAAHAHAHA!"

The human blinked at him. Slowly closed the door of the silver cupboard. Then, too swiftly for Ratigan to run, grabbed and dropped a large metal pot overtop of him with a deafening clang.

"Curses!" Ratigan cried out as he clawed at his smooth metal prison. "My stupendous genius foiled by a mere human!"

As his hearing returned he heard the heavy footsteps and raised voice of a human, presumably the one who'd trapped him, shouting: "Sherlock! There is a rat, wearing a top hat and a cape, and cackling evilly, in our kitchen. What have you put in my bloody tea this time!?"

-.-.-  
(that's it! Bwahahaha!)

**Author's Note:**

> (The collective noun for a group of mice is a _mischief_ , in case anyone thought that bit seemed weird.)


End file.
